


Skindeep

by convexity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Original Percival Graves, Whump, Wound Tending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: “No one’s every going to hurt you again Credence,” He whispered into his boy’s ear, shifting his arms tighter around his back.“Not while I draw breath, do you understand?”





	Skindeep

“I can’t heal them if you don’t show me.” Graves lowered into a squat so he was level with Credence, rolled his weight onto his heels. 

“I can’t,” came a barely audible reply. Credence’s chin was tucked to his chest, eyes closed. Occasionally he sucked in a long, shaky breath, deliberately blew out a slow exhale. Tenderness rose up in Grave’s chest, the tenderness that colored everything when it came to Credence, since the first time he’d seen him. 

Graves had seen him hurt before, but never in such a state. He wondered what had warranted the severity of this punishment. 

“Credence, I promise I can help you. But only if you let me. Whatever it is- I’ve seen worse.” 

Credence nodded miserably, but his hands remained closed togther in a shaking, bloodsoaked rag, protectively pulled close to his chest. 

Graves shifted his weight, splayed his fingers on the ground so he could turn and sit next to Credence, both their backs to the kitchen cupboards. He was careful not to bump or jostle the boy, knowing each micromevement was causing him pain. 

“Alright then. When you’re ready.” He said. 

Anyone who knew the Director professionally would be surprised by the patience in his voice. He was not one to tolerate frivolty or nonsense. He knew he was curt with his subordinates, gave nothing in the way of slack (fodder for nervous jokes behind his back at his name aptly being Graves). Yet he found none of his terseness occured when it came to Credence. The boy was different. Graves would have sat beside him all night, wating for him to unfurl his wounds. 

Credence’s inability to be uncooperative for very long won the battle with his shock. He pushed the shaking pulp of bandages forward, let his hands fall open. Graves moved to kneel in front of Credence, ignoring the protest from his knees on the kitchen tiles. 

Slowly, carefully, he lifted the soiled gauze from Credence’s skin. Where blood had congealed it pulled a little. Graves grit his teeth when Credence winced. 

“Almost.” He soothed, at last dropping a yard or so of cloth to the floor. Credence held his hands out in front of him as if to cup water. He was looking at them without seeing, all color gone from his face, expression dazedly calm. 

Before, he’d healed a dozen little lacerations, mean bites from a belt that would sting like hell for days. That had been nothing like this. Credence’s palms were reduced to ground meat, blood pooling and leaking from pink tissue. A tendon was exposed, and on the knuckle of his middle fingers, the white grin of bone showed through. Graves hissed sympathetically at the sight, feeling anger burning low in his gut at the no-maj woman's sadism. He wondered how Credence had made it all the way here on foot, penniless and numb, wet gauze freezing to his skin in New York's winter air. 

“I told her no.” Credence whispered, sounding lost, someplace far away under gauzy flora and lit by suffering. 

“Credence, this-,” Graves found himself lost for words, another peculiariarity he was unused to. 

“I can’t let you go back there. Not ever.” 

Credence blinked slowly, eyes moving from Graves back to his maimed hands. He was somwhere else, Graves realized. They would have this discussion later. 

All business now, Graves focused all his attention on the task of healing Credence’s hands. Firstly, his concern was that tendon, which without magic might not heal correctly at all, and would claim the use of the finger. He was less concerned with scarring, for the moment, and more concerned with closing wounds, regenerating skin tissue to close over the knuckle bone, mend flayed skin back together. 

Credence seemed to come back to himself once the tendon was repaired and the bones were covered. Graves put forth the effort it required to send agents of pain reliving magic all across his hands,which would tingle up his arms and into his whole body like an opiate. 

He whimpered, waching the gore of his hands pull back together, smooth and settle into what resembled his palms. Graves doubled down on the pain relief, even though the worst of it was probably gone. He glanced up to watch as morphine-like bliss alighted Credence’s nerves. 

Credence was looking at his hands with the same quiet awe he had the first time Graves had healed him. There were still imperfections, telltale signs of trauma to the tissue, but it was all closed, whole. Graves wondered how long Credence had stood, stoic, while the blows came. How long was it before the skin broke, before he started to sob? Was he held down or did that woman have enough sway to get him to hold his hands out for her while she mutilated them? Never again would she have the satisfaction. That much he could make sure of.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Credence pitched forward into Grave’s arms, almost unbalancing him. He rocked forward to compensate, encircling Credence in his arms. 

“Thank you.” Credence said, tears straining his voice. 

“My boy,” Graves murmured solemnly, rocking him gently. “I failed you. I didn’t protect you.” 

An apology. Healing and an apology was the best he could do. Muffled but sincere, Credence spoke against Grave’s shoulder.

“I’m not going back there.” 

Graves didn’t know if this was conviction or a revelation. Perhaps Credence was simply echoing what Graves had told him earlier. Maybe he had abosorbed it through his shock, in the far-away place. 

“Youre not going back there.” Graves repeated firmly. A promise. Better than an apology. “No one’s every going to hurt you again Credence,” He whispered into his boy’s ear, shifting his arms tighter around his back. 

“Not while I draw breath, do you understand?”

He felt Credence nod against his shoulder. 

“I’m putting you to bed. You need to sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning. In the daylight.”

“Don’t leave me.” Credence whispered fiercely. 

“Did I say anything so outlandish?” 

He stood, bringing Credence to his feet. He was steadier than he had any right to be, after his evening. Graves steered him toward the cool dark of the master bedroom and his fourposter bed, vowing to care for more than Credence’s physical wounds as best he could.

**Author's Note:**

> [say hi on Tumblr!](http://bastardgirls.tumblr.com)


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